


Charity Is

by cookinguptales



Category: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookinguptales/pseuds/cookinguptales
Summary: Martha always had been good at mixing things.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamarind (rogue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue/gifts).



> Happy holidays, tamarind! I've loved this movie since I was a little girl, and I had a good time writing a little scene from the early days of the Brewster sister's murder spree. I hope you enjoy it!

Abby was pondering, Martha could sense it. She always got that look on her face when she was pondering, the one with the slightly absent eyes and the crease between her brows. Her hands lagged behind Martha's for just half an instant while they were tidying the dishes, and she pricked at her fingers more than she did the fabric when she was doing her needlepoint. All in all, Abby just wasn't all _there_. But there was the ghost of a smile hovering at the edges of her lips and an almost-sparkle in those faraway eyes. Wherever she was, Martha thought it must have been rather nice.

Martha, for her part, just waited for Abby to come back from wherever she was visiting. It never paid to rush these things. Hurried hands were prone to slippage. So she sat by her side, paging through a mystery novel (that really was a bit much, truth be told), and let Abby ponder.

It wasn't very long before the sharpness came back to Abby's eyes. She turned them on Martha then, the glow in them as dear and familiar as anything, and said, "Martha, I've been thinking."

"Oh?" Martha said, as if that fact hadn't been clear as day, even to her tired eyes.

"Well, I just--" She paused and ducked her head a little, and there was a bit of sweet mischief there in the curve of her lips. Martha closed her book. "I've just been thinking so much about our dear Mr. Midgely."

"Ah, Mr. Midgely..." Martha said, and pressed her book to her chest. "He looked so lovely dressed for burial, didn't he?"

Abby nodded. "Exactly so, Martha. So at peace!"

"So happy!"

Abby smiled at her. "I knew you'd understand, Martha dear. And I just... I've been thinking, Martha. Wouldn't it be very kind if we could bring a little bit of that happiness to other gentlemen?"

Martha bit at her bottom lip. "You mean--"

Abby nodded again, and Martha could see the way her hands were knotting up the lace of her skirts. "I do, Martha."

Her voice was cautious, and that slight note of hesitance was rare after all these years. But what Abby was suggesting... Martha supposed it was a lot to ask of a person. After all, it was very tiring to carry a body down all those stairs, and Martha's bones weren't as strong as they'd once been. _"But,"_ she thought, _"Charity is as charity does."_

She took Abby's hands in hers. "I think that's a splendid idea, Abby. I've been feeling so at odds since they disbanded the Friends of the Destitute, and Elaine keeps telling us that it's healthy to try new hobbies," she said. And wouldn't Elaine be so proud to hear that they'd taken her advice to heart?

Abby's fingers tightened around hers. "Oh Martha, I'm so glad you agree!" she said, and the sigh she gave was pure delighted relief.

"I do," Martha said. She tilted her head. "But how should we go about releasing these poor men from their burdens? A man like Mr. Midgely doesn't walk through the door every day, you know."

He'd been the perfect combination, really. Old, lonely, and prone to heart disease. And if there was one thing that Martha had learned during her years on this earth, it was that luck should be welcomed but not depended upon. The two of them couldn't just wait in their parlor for dear old men to drop in -- and drop dead. The two of them would likely have to be a bit more proactive if they wanted to help God's plan along a little.

"Mr. Midgely came to us about the room, didn't he? There must be so many other lonely old men in this city who just want a warm place to rest their heads. And after they come to us, we can just help them along."

"Yes, Abby, but how?" Martha asked. "I won't have a mess in our parlor."

"Of course not," Abby said, and looked affronted at the very idea. "I was thinking of something much gentler."

Martha pursed her lips. Good. Knives and such were far too violent for her taste, and blood was so very difficult to get out of the carpet. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Abby said and she leaned in a little. "You know the powders that Father used to keep in his special cabinet?"

Martha tilted her head to the side. "Are you suggesting that we feed poison to our houseguests, Abby?" she asked. That didn't seem very hospitable.

"Oh, no, no, don't be silly," Abby said. "They should drink it, of course. Wouldn't it be much nicer like that?"

"Poisoned tea..." Martha murmured. "What a perfectly marvelous idea."

Abby beamed. "Isn't it? They won't feel a thing."

Not if they did it right, certainly. And she knew just the thing. "Arsenic would get us started, then cyanide, and then... Yes, I do think just a pinch of strychnine. That would send them along quite nicely," Martha said. She was sure of it.

"But you know, Martha..."

Martha blinked, startled from what was starting to take the shape of a good ponder of her own. "What is it, Abby?"

Abby tutted a little and shook her head. "We mustn't sacrifice flavor for efficacy."

"Oh no, Abby!" Martha said. "I wouldn't dream of it! We do want our gentlemen to be comfortable before they pass on."

In fact, maybe the tea was a bad idea. A good poison did tend to have a strong scent. It might work better if they had something to mask the flavors a bit. Poisons, in Martha's experience, didn't taste very nice at all.

She remembered the astringent taste of strychnine as their father placed it on their tongues. It hadn't been much, just a little, but she remembered the bitterness of it fairly well. Their father had so loved his poisons, and he'd seen fit to share that passion with the rest of the family. It hadn't always been very fun when they'd been children, being called in from the churchyard for the weekly appointments. She and Martha would have much preferred playing hide and seek amongst the tombstones. But she had the taste of them now, all the powders and liquids in that cabinet, and if it would help them save a few dear old men... Well, the Lord did work in mysterious ways, didn't He?

"Abby," she said, and tapped her thumb against her book as she thought, "Do we still have any of that elderberry wine left?"


End file.
